Free Carola Dunn by Angel

air had a musty smell as if it had been breathed too many times.
    “I beg your pardon, ma’am, for not rising to greet you,” said his lordship to Mrs Sutton, sounding not in the least apologetic. “My physician has placed strict limits upon my freedom of movement.”
    “Pray do not let it concern you, my lord,” she replied.
    “I do not, I assure you. Are you quite comfortable at the vicarage? It is not as commodious as you expected, I daresay.” The words were unexceptionable, but the tone of the earl’s voice was malicious and provoking.
    “It suits us very well for the summer. The surroundings make up for all the deficiencies.”
    Angel was full of admiration for the way Aunt Maria managed to give as good as she got without being impolite.
    “Ha!” grunted his lordship. “Well, I am tired. You may go.” They murmured good-byes, dropped curtsies, and were halfway to the door when he called harshly, “Wait! Gregory tells me the girls like to ride. They may borrow horses as long as a groom rides with them. Good-bye.”
    “Thank you very much, my lord,” chorused Angel and Catherine. They curtsied yet again, and fled. Mr and Mrs Sutton joined them at a more decorous pace, and they all breathed a sigh of relief as the footman closed the door behind them.
    “It is kind of Lord Grisedale to mount us,” said Catherine, who was looking somewhat pale. “Papa, I feel a little dizzy.”
    “I’m not surprised,” hissed Angel as the vicar lent his daughter a supporting arm. “My head was swimming in there, and I never faint.”
    Mrs Sutton decided that her daughter needed fresh air, so they soon made their farewells.
    “I hope I never have to enter that room again,” asserted Catherine in heartfelt tones, as they drove homeward.
    “He is not a conciliating person,” said the vicar mildly, “but he has had a deal to bear. I do not think his doctor’s advice is sound.”
    “Certainly not!” snorted his wife. “Light and air and moderate exercise would do both body and temper a world of good, and so I shall tell him if I see him again. I am only sorry I was too taken aback by his manner to do so this time!”
    Between pouring rain, chores, and the preparations for the trip to Penrith, Angel did not see Beth that weekend except to nod to her in church. So appalling was the weather, with howling gales that took a couple of slates off the roof and lashed the tall yews into an alarming frenzy, that Mrs Sutton considered postponing the outing. However, there were a number of household items, unobtainable in Patterdale, without which she could manage no longer.
    When they left, late on Monday morning, downpour had diminished to drizzle, and by the time they reached Penrith, a few promising patches of blue sky were visible. Angel was happy to find that a previous guest at the Gloucester Arms had been Richard III. She shuddered in anachronistic dread when permitted a peek into the wainscoted chamber where the wicked king had once laid his weary head, even though Catherine insisted that he had been much maligned.
    The room they shared was also lined with elaborately carved panelling. Angel was immediately convinced that somewhere among the oaken roses, leaves, and bunches of grapes a secret catch must be concealed, one which properly manipulated would move aside a section of the wall to reveal a hiding place.
    “It is forever happening in novels,” she pointed out as she prodded and twisted in vain. “There will be a niche containing a manuscript with the confession of some awful deed, or perhaps a lost will. No, I know! Mary Queen of Scots stayed nearby, so there must have been a hiding place for Papists in Penrith. I’ll wager there is a priest’s hole behind this.”
    “If so, I hope you find it,” said Catherine generously, laughing. “But come now, Angel. Papa and Mother will be waiting.”
    Between shopping and sightseeing, Angel had no leisure to investigate until the following evening. Sleepy after